Insurmountable odds define the spirit of combat sports. It’s great to watch the spectacle, but we often forget about outside factors affecting the athletes on the big day. Thrilla is an account of one such event, following the tumultuous journey of BJJ black belt Mike “Thrilla” Davila as he prepares for a massive tournament amidst the COVID pandemic.
Thrilla works because of its exclusivity—with director and cameraman Ricardo Aguirre Jr. giving his audience unrestricted access to Davila’s most private moments during training, traveling, and even weight cutting. It’s far more detailed than your average indie doc, going into the private life of Davila and his path to martial arts while showcasing enough competition jiu-jitsu to keep things entertaining.
For those largely unfamiliar with the world of combat sports, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu has had a rapid rise in popularity thanks in no small part to Royce Gracie’s legendary 1993 UFC tournament win. Demonstrating a unique arsenal of movements designed to control opponents and achieve advantageous positions that lead to submissions, BJJ is now a firm fixture of modern sporting, whether seen exclusively in its own nexus or on the global stage in the UFC.
In such trying times as the lockdown of 2020, everyone had to endure unimaginable hardships. Mike and his training partner Adam “Bomb” Collarile’s gym was forced to close, leaving the two with limited options to support themselves. Now just weeks out from the EBI (Eddie Bravo Invitational), Mike must shed his “quarantine body” and begin game planning for his championship run alongside longtime friend Collarile. His contest is set at a contracted 145 lbs, which he must make weeks out while weighing 188 lbs. This is a daunting task that must be finalized just before the competition.
In terms of its narrative appeal, Thrilla delights by putting Davila and Collarile center stage, allowing them to narrate their preparation and strategies. From the grueling near-40 lbs weight cut to the actual tournament performance, the docu covers just about everything, often to its detriment. For starters, there’s very little context given for the state of BJJ, the rules, and the history—information that would have been essential for newcomers to know if they were to watch with absolute clarity. The editing is also in need of some punching-up: graphics, transitions, color grading, and music would have gone a long way in really bridging the gap in its storytelling deficiencies. Perhaps it could have even worked as a vlog-style episodic series, similar to how many major sports groups today like to promote upcoming events.
In a world that’s seemingly opening up more to the influences of martial arts, Thrilla will please those who seek it out with its broad coverage and meaningful spotlight of BJJ athletes.
